


Bad Cryptid!  Drop That!

by Joylee



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Found Family, unnamed Thames-Grant child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 21:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joylee/pseuds/Joylee
Summary: The Folly takes on an unidentified body, well part of one anyway, and solves the mystery of the vanishing waterfoul along the River Lea.  At the same time educating disbelieving colleagues and integrating new members to the team.  All the while racing against the clock to make it on time to a Pre-school Christmas Pageant.





	Bad Cryptid!  Drop That!

**Author's Note:**

> About the first thing you find when you google the River Lea are some stories about a mysterious creature causing geese to suddenly disappear. In the Rivers of London universe one explanation leaps immediately to mind.

Between the fact that the Met sends nearly all of it’s ‘paperwork’ electronically these days and my Governor prefers to issues his instructions face to face my physical inbox consists of a spot on the entrance lobby table that usually contains only the junk mail that still comes to me at the Folly’s address.

So I was more than a little surprised to find a square envelope of heavy white paper, hand addressed in a writing style you only see in manuscripts at the British Library, waiting for me when I left the Tech Cave and headed into the Folly proper for our mid morning briefing, otherwise known as elevenses. 

_Dear Detective Sergeant Grant,_

__

__

_I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you and Detective Chief Inspector Nightingale regarding a matter of some urgency. If 4:00 on Tuesday would suit, I will order us Tea at Bakervilles Tea Shop in Palmers Green._

_Yours truly,  
Lea_

I showed the letter to Nightingale, but he had apparently received his own invitation. Which was no more informative than mine.

“Best meet with her though.” He decided. “It’s certainly unwise to snub one of the Rivers. Not to mention that ‘a matter of some urgency’ that Lea can’t handle herself does rather give one pause.”

So the following afternoon saw us heading up the A4200 to Highgate Road, I in my my best court appearance suit and Nightingale in a bespoke, gray, double breasted, lounge suit, that I suspected had been made in the late 50s. 

“I’ve spoken with Sahra, and she is willing to be on call for us Friday, so please let Beverly know that we can both attend the Christmas Pageant.”

It was actually a ‘Holiday Play’. My daughter’s Pre-school was nothing if not up to date. Sometimes, however, explaining such things to Nightingale were not worth the effort. “Good, I’d never hear the end of it if either of us missed it.”

“Indeed not.” Nightingale smiled. “I’m rather looking forward to it. Although I have to confess the plot of the event was a touch hard to follow.”

“I think it’s more of a way to make sure all the kids have a turn in the spotlight than a coherent story line.” Even so Nightingale had listened to my three year old describe the play for most of the evening the last time he had been to dinner. 

My mother had had been in one of her periodic church going phases when the baby had been born. To my surprise Beverly had agreed to Mum’s request to have the baby christened. While choosing a godmother from among her many sisters had proven tricky there had really been only one option for godfather.

“If you’ve got the most powerful wizard alive to choose for your daughter’s protector only a fool would overlook him.” Bev pointed out. “Not to mention he’s probably the only one we know who actually has the faintest idea what being a godparent actually entails.” 

Nightingale had been “honored” to be asked and from the start had played a major role in the baby’s life. 

“I’m an experienced uncle,” He had explained when it turned out he could quiet a cranky baby faster than anyone else.

He didn’t use magic. I checked.

We made a point to get to the tea shop a good fifteen minutes early. According to Nightingale a gentleman always made a point of arriving before the lady he was to meet. Also it gave us plenty of time to scope the place out.

Lea arrived dead on time wearing skirted suit in a classic style that screamed Lady of the Manor, with a smile that matched and a hat that the Queen would have approved. “Oh, excellent you’re here. It’s so lovely when young people understand the virtue of punctuality. Ty’s children are _appalling_ when it comes to keeping track of time. 

“Now I’ve ordered us a lovely proper Tea, with both cheese and sweet scones along with some sandwiches: salmon; cress; and because I’m sure a hard working young man like Peter needs something a bit heartier to see him through the day, ham.” This last got me another Lady of the Manor smile. “I asked Beverly and she said you don’t have any dietary restrictions?”

I assured her ham was fine.

“Good.” She went on with a brisk nod. “I don’t hold with these UKIP people what with their railing against migrants. I am one myself after all, but all this diversity does rather complicate dinner parties. One has to inquire of everyone’s assistants as to food preferences before planning the menu.”

She shook her head. “Why the last time I had the last time I had the Board of the Canal and River Trust round for dinner we had to come up with a gluten free, vegetarian, halal dinner. Poor Cook was actually in tears.

“But we needn’t worry about any of that today.” She smiled. “For a treat I’ve had them do us a lovely St. Clement Drizzle Cake as well.” 

Good thing I’ve spent years being fed by Molly.

We were served this mountain of food by the manageress. Who treated Lea with deference and Nightingale and I with considerable reservation. I made mental note to add her to our list of potential demi-monde.

Lea set about pouring tea. Handing the first cup to Nightingale, she intoned, I, Lea, solemnly swear, on my shield, the headwaters of my river and my season tickets to the London Symphony that nothing you partake of from my hand or at this table will place you under any obligation.”

Nodding regally she added. “I thought you would be more comfortable having tea here rather than in my home. Public place, less sense of obligation. Not that my oath would not be equally good at home.”

“Of course,” said Nightingale, taking a sip of tea to show his trust.

As we sampled the tea I asked, “How did you come to London?” I was fairly sure that Lea belonged to the older generation of _Genius Loci_. A contemporary of Father Thames’s sons who had perished during the Great Stink of 1858. So I worded my question as broadly as I could. ‘Foreign’ in her outlook could be Wales or Scotland. With her coloring certainly no farther than the continent.

“I was a Shieldmaiden in the train of Guthrum.” She went on. “A fearsome warrior and a wise and canny leader. After we failed to conquer Wessex, Guthrum decided a peaceful accord would be better than the constant boarder skirmishes. So he proposed a treaty to King Alfred who took us up on it. Leaving us everything east of the Lea. And turning us into the Danes that paying the Danegeld would never rid you of.” 

Nightingale and I diplomatically joined in her chuckle at her joke.

The Lea became the boundary between Anglo Saxon England and the Danelaw in 886. Making Lea older than Oxley. Father Thames’s oldest surviving son and consigliere.

Nightingale clearly remembered his history as well as I did. “Hardly qualifies as foreign these days.”

“Father Thames never viewed it that way.” Lea took a scone and began to butter it. “He was not best pleased to have a Viking not of his begetting farthest to his east. 

“Not to mention I was a _woman_. That I proved a better warrior than his sons really stuck in his craw.” She smirked and bit into her scone.

The Lea river valley had manufactured arms for the crown since the 17th century. The Gunpowder Mills Canals are tributaries of the Lea and their function was exactly what it says on the box. The ‘en’ in the Sten gun comes from the Borough of Enfield. 

“Is that why you switched allegiance to Mama Thames?” I asked. Nightingale shifted uncomfortably. Clearly concerned that my questions were intruding too far into the Rivers’ politics.

But _all_ of the Rivers like to talk about themselves. Admittedly sometimes cryptically, but if Lea was prepared to be chatty I was going to encourage it. 

“ _He_ lost my allegiance long before my Lady Thames came along.” She sniffed. “ _He_ withdrew from the tidewaters leaving the City without a protective spirit. I could forgive him not coming down to attend the funeral of the old Queen when she died. And there was little enough any of us could do when the influenza epidemic swept through, but when he failed to take action during the evacuation of Dunkirk, well there was nothing for it but take matters into my own hands.” She poured another round of tea. “Exceeded my jurisdiction something fierce, but I couldn’t leave those poor boys to the Krauts now could I? Not all those handsome, brave young men.”

Nightingale frowned slightly. “You crossed the channel with the ‘little ships’?”

“Oh, no. I stayed firmly at the mouth of the Thames.” She demurred. “Near enough to the channel to make sure the storms held off and the sea stayed calm. Could only manage to keep it up for awhile. Still, long enough to bring the boys home though.”

“You didn’t think that weather was sheer luck did you?” She grinned cheekily. 

“When the bombings started I traveled up to meet with Father Thames. Went down on my knees to beg him to come back to help save the city. But would he come?” Her eyes narrowed angrily. “No, he would not. Too caught up in his grief and anger to see where his duty lay. Said it was only just that the City die for what it had done to his sons.

“I told him, he was no true leader to leave the city to its fate and got outlawed from his court because of it. Which I minded not at all. I was not about to give my fealty to a leader who let his spite get in the way of his obligation to his demesne.” 

“Even if it did leave me all on my own.” She smiled. “But then my lady Thames came along and now not only have I a wise and true lady to give oath to, but there is a whole new generation of Orisa to join me.

“Would you like anything else? More cake?”

When both Nightingale and I declined, she took a long sip of tea. “Best to move on to business then.”

She fidgeted with the tea things.

“Perhaps if you started at the beginning?” Nightingale suggested gently.

“No.” She folded her hands in her lap. “It needs to be faced. You see I’m a bit concerned that Ennie may be have killed someone.”

I took out my notebook, “And who might Ennie be?”

Turned out Ennie was a what rather than a who. “I found her in the river… well, it was after the Great Stink but before the old Queen died. Just a little thing. Not much bigger than a lapdog. But she grew.”

To be roughly six meters long now. “She’s a bit hard to measure, what with the long neck and the tail.”

Dr. Walid was going to love this. “So Ennie is a… sea serpent?” 

“Oh, no.” Lea shook her head. “She’s strictly a fresh water creature. In fact she’s a bit clingy. Likes to stay near to me. Although she does like to play with some of the younger girls. Back before my Lady Thames she was about the only company I had. Walbrook not being at all social and Mrs. Canal, well...” She shrugged.

“Ness thinks they’re Plesiosauria, my Ennie and his Nessie, but I never really cared. She’s such a sweet thing. Quite smart, too. More so than most dogs.” Lea looked at us imploringly. “Neither of them have ever given the slightest _hint_ they would attack a person. The odd bird, yes. But I’ve trained her not to go after the swans. Only...”

Apparently the day before yesterday Ennie had turned up with what Lea first took to be a boot. Until she found it was still contained someone’s lower leg. “So I wrote you in the hopes you could find out where Ennie got it.”

Lea proved to be a better than average witness. She and Ennie had been doing ‘pastoral care’ around the old Small Arms Factory. (Wisely neither Nightingale nor I chose to ask what.) Lea had stopped in for quick chat, “No more than twenty minutes at most, didn’t even stay for a cuppa.” When she got back to the river she had Ennie enjoying a snack.

“It’s possible she just found it.” Lea suggested hopefully.

In which case identifying where it came from became our problem rather than hers. 

Which, regrettably, was actually our job. After a few more questions to establish location and times, Nightingale said, “If the evidence is still available, our pathologist should be able to determine… how it came to be separated from the rest of the person.”

“I have it in the boot.”

Fortunately in a disposable cooler.

“It’s a bit chewed I’m afraid.” Lea apologized as she handed the cooler to me. “I got it away from her as quickly as I could.

I got the fun of delivering it to our forensic team for examination and explanation. While Dr Vaughn tutted over the poor preservation conditions, Dr. Walid grilled me about Lea’s pet monster. “The beasties can’t possibly be Plesiosauria. Aside from the species going extinct in the Cretaceous period, they’re sea dwellers not fresh water. Do you think I could see it?”

“Let’s make sure it’s not going to try to eat you first.” I suggested.

 

Dr. Vaughn’s analysis of the leg established that the bone had been cut, “Not bitten through. And for what it’s worth it was done post-mortem.”

“I don’t suppose you can tell cause of death?”

“Not unless you find a good deal more of him to work with.” 

Nightingale was relieved. “I was a bit concerned as to what would happen to East London, not to mention Hertfordshire and Essex if we had to tell Lea that her pet was a man eater and had to be put down. Hand it over to Enfield and let them track down the rest of him.”

Death by misadventure not being in our brief unless the misadventure had a magical component. Since we had established Ennie was not at fault here that got us off the hook.

Or at least it did in theory, Somehow the Enfield CID had managed to avoid any contact with the Folly for at least a couple of decades. DCI Smith who headed up the Murder Investigation team had never heard of us. “And what exactly is the Special Assessment Unit?”

You don’t tell a Detective Chief Inspector on less than five minutes acquaintance that you’re the folks who investigate ‘weird bollocks’. “We’re part of the Specialist Crime Directorate. We handle a variety of esoteric cases that fall outside other units expertise.” 

“And you’re trying to palm some unidentified human remains off on us.” DCI Smith was not happy at the prospect. “And just how did you end up with them?”

“One of our covert human intelligence source’s pet,” Exposing this fellow to Lea struck me as a risky proposition. Even before you added Ennie to the mix. “Found it in the river near the old Small Arms Factory. Since it does not appear fall within our investigative gambit we are turning it over to the proper jurisdiction.”

“And just what are we suppose to do without any context of where it came from?” Smith demanded. 

Not really my problem, Guv. But he seemed to actually be expecting an answer. “Might be a good start to pull the CCTV footage for the area and see if you can find someone doing a little late night dumping. And be on the look out for the rest of him.” 

Smith’s constable commented, “There was a report of a human finger found by some kayakers. But forensics has not gotten back to us with an analysis. Could just be from an accident.”

Except now we had two bits of body parts. One of which was established to have been cut off post-mortem. “That seems more than a bit unlikely with both a foot and a finger, sir.” 

He was a DCI. Even if I was not so far impressed I needed to be respectful.

Smith sighed. “I’ll have someone collect the CCTV footage, but until we’ve established that it is a suspicious death, _and_ it actually is in our jurisdiction, reviewing it will be a very low priority.” He stated.

There were genuine conservation of resources issues and then there was ducking responsibility. I considered kicking this fight upstairs to Nightingale, but it was not really worth it. “If you can just get the footage uploaded to HOLMES and I’ll have someone go through it.”

I dumped the task onto our brand new apprentice. A wee highland lass named MacBeth, who, in an ironic parallel of my career path, we had stolen from the Case Progressions Unit after she had done a rather clever bit of cross referencing that helped us track down some antique marine equipment and hadn’t batted an eye on learning they were haunted. She was keen to learn magic and dead eager to prove she could make a valuable contribution beyond data management. Trolling through that footage would be good practice for her. Not to mention being a nice break from trying to learn to make a werelight. Given how she jumped on the task, she apparently thought so too.

Which just goes to the prove that no good deed goes unpunished.

MacBeth had her laptop with her, closed in deference to Nightingale’s ‘no devices at the table’ rule, when I joined them for breakfast the next day. I like cereal as well as the next fellow, but when I have the chance, I feed the child and wait to have breakfast at the Folly. After I had tucked away a nice helping of eggs and sausage and Nightingale was finishing his second cup of tea, she deferentially asked us, “I’ve reviewed the CCTV material from Enfield, Sirs. May I show you what I found?”

I very much doubted I was going to be ‘sir’ much past the first round of property damage she witnessed, but was enjoying it while it lasted.

“Certainly.” Nightingale put down his tea cup to signify the meal was finished.

“I started by checking the cameras nearest the point where the leg was found.” She explained. “But as I was getting those together I discovered there was a note saying that one of the cameras about half a klick upstream had malfunctioned around midnight on Saturday.”

“Malfunctioned?” I could guess where this was going.

“Yes, sir.” Looking very pleased with herself, she started a video on her laptop. “So I went looking and managed to find a pub who’s car park camera overlooked that part of the river path. It’s a bit too distant to make out details, but you can distinctly see two men chucking things into the river.

“And,” She added triumphantly, “If you look close you can see that the light there is not a torch.”

No. It was hanging well above the heads of the two men. A neat little werelight.

“We may have handed this off a bit prematurely.” Nightingale remarked.

 

Which was all well and good for him to say but I was the one who ended up hauling my ass back up the Enfield and explaining that while the case may have elements that were Falcon related, it did not get them off the hook for bits of a body found in their manor.

DCI Smith was even less pleased with me. But he did assign a uniformed constable to assist me. Since Nowak was at least ten years my senior and still in uniform I was not expecting great things from him.

Turned out that Nowak knew his patch though. He stopped the CCTV footage a the point where it showed the best view of the men’s faces. “Well the heavier one is too out of focus to make out, but that skinny little blighter is Bertie ‘the Nut’ Wilson. So named because he somehow managed to shoot off one of his testicles while trying to flog a couple of handguns. The Wilsons have been petty crooks around here for generations. I think our boy Bertie is the only male of the family not currently in the nick. Which is amazing cause he’s dumb as a brick.” 

“Are you sure? Of the identification I mean. I hadn’t really expected someone who disposed of a body in a major London waterway to be a criminal mastermind.”

“Yeah, I’ve arrested him often enough.” Nowak snorted. “When he’s not banged up, he’s getting drunk at the pub and having a domestic. Although I think he’s living at his Mum’s these days.”

So we set out for Bertie’s Mum’s. As we drove over, Nowak asked, “Mate of mine who works out of Belgravia says that you’re part of some X-files unit. That true?”

“We handle matters that fall outside the parameters of normal policing.” I told him. And upped my opinion of him as a copper. He at least had checked me out, which was more than could be said for his superior. “What else did your mate say?”

“That when you turn up it’s hell on the clear up rate.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I passed what I heard onto the Inspector. That’s why he’s so down on you. Sorry.”

“Worried about his clear up rate?” I could live with that. Seawolf in Belgravia felt the same way. 

“Nah, _I’m_ worried about what you’re going to blow up. The Guvernor is religious.” Nowak explained. “He won’t even let his kids read Harry Potter. He’s worried about our souls cavorting with witches and all.”

I assured Nowak I was happily monogamous and had no intention of cavorting with anyone other than Bev. I got an eye roll for my trouble. 

 

The Wilson manor proved to be less squalid than I expected. A fairly well kept up semidetached. Luck was with us and Bertie opened the door,

“Morning Bertie, I’m PC Nowak and this is... Shit!”

A rather reasonable reaction given that Wilson had just formed and thrown a fireball at Nowak’s head. The forma for my shield was so automatic now that I had it up to deflect the fireball off to the side before Wilson finished his casting. Not that I needed it. That fireball wouldn’t have given Nowak a sunburn. Nightingale would have had one of his apprentices cross referencing County Practitioner reports for a week had we been that sloppy.

Luckily Wilson was no better at trying to escape than he was at magic. 

I hit him in the knees with a well form _impello_. Showing him how a proper wizard does things. Then I followed up with Nightingale's ‘quite good spell for holding people in place’. 

We had him cuffed in a matter of minutes.

I had to do the caution as DC Nowak was clearly having trouble adjusting his world view to include the uncanny. 

“What _was_ that?” DC Nowak stammered. 

“Magic, mate.” Wilson smirked. “I’m a mage.” 

“Not hardly.” I wasn’t gentle as I hauled him to his feet. 

 

Just to be on the safe side we took Wilson down to Belgravia and stuffed him into one of the Falcon cells while we sorted things out. This suited Enfield just fine. After Nowak reported his discovery that magic really was real back to his Governor the more distance they could put between themselves and any ‘weird bollocks’ the happier they would be. Smith did show up to watch the interview from the observation room. 

“Could you tell who trained him?” Nightingale asked when I called him to report.

“I wouldn’t myself call him ‘trained’,” I told him. “It’s attenuated but probably one of the Little Crocodiles. Definitely someone trained by Geoffrey Wheatcroft. Not, thankfully, Chorley or Leslie.”

“Do you need me to come in?”

Procedure for newly discovered rogue practitioners was to first trace their magical lineage. Being faced with Nightingale and the discovery that the Folly was not just legend tended to make them much more cooperative.

“Honestly I don’t think this guy knows enough to recognize who you are.” 

Nowak as still too shaken to help with the interview, so in the end I grabbed Guleed to hold down the second seat. She had just enough time to pull up Wilson’s IIP.

Which printed out thick enough to provide a useful prop without adding anything to it. “You’ve been a busy boy, Bertie.”

“Lots of offenses starting with aggravated.” Sahra made a show of paging through the file. “And oh look, seems you’re still on parole. Won’t even have to charge you to send you back up the steps.

“So you best cooperate if you don’t want a lot more time tacked onto your sentence.” She closed the file.

He sighed. “What’a ya want to know?”

In the end he spilled everything he knew. Nowak had not been underestimating Wilson’s intelligence. 

Seems he and his mates had started a protection racket among the demi-monde of Enfield. My term, Wilson called them ‘the weirdos’.

Apparently part of the shake down involved them making werelights and tossing fireballs around to impress the punters. My guess was that the demi-monde was less impressed by their magic and more worried about what they were going to destroy as they tossed it about.

The bits of our corpse belonged to one Larry Ramsey, who could actually manage a bit of _impello_. It seemed that during one of their shake downs the wheels had come off. "Larry, he just keels over and starts shaking.”

They had quickly loaded Larry in the car and got the hell out of there. Things got worse as they got him back to their lair. (Wilson actually said lair. Guleed couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.) By which point it was clear that Larry was brown bread and they had a body to dispose of. 

“Cause the Master, him what’s teaching us magic, says we can’t call an ambulance. That something must’a gone wrong with the spell he was doing and that it’ll break the vows of secrecy if anybody finds out.” 

I sighed. “What went wrong was your mate bit off more than he could chew. You use magic too much and it starts to perforate your brain. Causing strokes, brain hemorrhage, aneurysm...”

That got his attention. “How much is too much?”

The flip answer is when you have a stroke, brain hemorrhage, or aneurysm. “Depends. Generally the longer you study the better you get and the more you can do. But there’s a lot of personal variation. My Guvernor, the Nightingale, him who’s teaching me magic, can tear buildings apart brick by brick and put a fireball through four inches of steel without breathing hard.

“I _don’t_ recommend you try anything like that.” I frowned at him. “In fact I don’t recommend you do much of anything at all. That was as pathetic a fireball as I’ve ever seen.”

“I suppose you can do better?” He sneered.

Since Sahra and I had our electronics turned off as a matter of course, I popped a tiny little firecracker size skinny grenade near his nose just by way of demonstration.

After that it took very little effort to get the name, address and phone number of his ‘Master’. One James Middlemore of, to no ones surprise, Enfield.

I arranged for Wilson to get a visit from Dr. Walid for the ‘safety lecture’, complete with power point presentation and preserved brain samples, while he was in custody. It did not seem to me that he could afford to lose any more brain cells. 

DCI Smith was not best pleased to learn there had been a magic protection racket going on in his manor without a hint getting back to him. “If they wouldn’t even report it, we’ll never be able to get the victims to testify.” He said gloomily.

“Don’t worry. I know just the person to convince them.” I told him. 

 

“A _Protections Racket_! Near my river? Do they think this is America?” Lea was thoroughly miffed when I filled her in. “Well, I’ll not have it. You just leave it to me. I’ll make sure the people they were extorting come forward to accuse them.”

“Lea seems surprisingly cooperative of law enforcement efforts for one of the Rivers.” Nightingale commented.

“It’s the Viking in her.” I explained. “Everybody thinks they were this marauding band of thugs, but really they just had an economic system based on piracy. Among themselves they were very law abiding, with elections and Courts. They developed the jury system. Did you know the word law actually comes from the Danes?”

“I can’t say that I did.” Nightingale said dryly. “One trusts you were not looking this up while you should have been working?”

“Only on the drive over to Enfield.” I told him. Nightingale’s objections to my ‘distractions’ has become mostly rote these days. As I’ve progressed in the art he had started to regard it as a mostly tolerable eccentricity. Based on the journals in the library, eccentricity seems a not uncommon trait among wizards. 

 

We set up a full blown Falcon operation to grab up Middlemore. It was probably overkill but we had no idea just how well trained Wilson’s Master actually was. Nightingale and Guleed would go in the front. Him being our strongest Falcon Qualified Officer and the best suited to win a battle against a rogue practitioner should the need arise. I would take the back, with MacBeth, her being our least experienced Falcon (barely) Qualified officer and the one most likely to need protecting if the wheels came off. 

Between MacBeth’s heavy ‘I may not live in the land of the midnight sun, but I can see it from here’ parka and festive red and green striped stocking cap she looked about as intimidating as an Elf On the Shelf. Which, I realized, could prove useful in dealing with the demi-monde. Between Nightingale being ‘Tiger Tank’ Nightingale and myself being a strapping young black man, much of the demi-monde was leery of us. Nobody was going to be leery of MacBeth. I made a mental note to see how she did the next time we needed to do some Community Policing. 

As I was contemplating how our new apprentice could best make a valuable contribution I noticed Lea floating in the river behind us. 

When she saw me looking her way she waved at me. As I waved back a head on a long neck broke the surface of the water to peer at me as well.

MacBeth gasped next to me. “Tis a real monster!”

“You didn’t believe us?” 

“I thought it was a hoax.” She admitted. “There’s a fellow back home in Lochdubh that has an inflatable monster head that he’ll drag through the Loch to drum up tourism. Me Da writes him up for marine safety violations periodically to make him stop for awhile.”

“There’s usually a reasonable explanation for what we investigate.” I told her. “Although frequently the explanation is...”

“A wizard did it.” She finished. “Aye, Abigail already told me that one.”

Everybody steals my best lines.

Guleed texted me that they were about to go in. For several minutes we just stood around stamping our feet and rubbing our hands together. Then there was a wave of _vestigia_. A sloppy mess of heavy drums, sour beer and malice. Followed by another, sharp and controlled as the point of a needle that was Nightingale’s _signare_.

Whatever Nightingale was countering it was enough to slow him and Sahra down long enough for Middlemore to dash out the back, jump the fence and head straight for the river walk.

“Armed police. Stand still and put your hands on your head.” I shouted taking after him. MacBeth was hard on my heels, baton extended. The kid’s instincts were good at least. 

I hit him in the knees with a _impello_ , but he managed to slide sideways in such a way as to end up in the river.

How he planned to avoid hypothermia jumping into the river this time of year I’ve no idea, but if he had a plan it went sideways almost as soon as he hit the water. There was a high pitched scream. Then Ennie raised up out of the water. Middlemore’s thigh firmly grasped between her teeth.

Slamming to a halt in time to avoid pitching into the river, I shouted. “ _Ennie_ , drop him! Bad… cryptid!”

My command voice worked better on Ennie than it ever had on Toby. I got a look that could only be described as a pout, but she promptly let go of Middlemore.

Who fell rather heavily to the pavement.

MacBeth immediately dropped to her knees on top of his back to keep him from getting up and began to give him the caution as she tried to dig her handcuffs out from under her jacket.

Like I said. Good instincts.

I handed her my cuffs. We had him contained by the time Nightingale and Sahra joined us.

 

Middlemore’s jeans had saved him from the worst of Ennie’s teeth, but we had to take him over to hospital to get him looked at anyway. Dr. Walid insisted on getting pictures so he could study the bite pattern. Since there was no way we were going to be able to keep Abdul away from Ennie, I decided I was making Bev act as chaperon for the introduction. 

What with one thing and another, we were well into the afternoon before we were able to get down to interviewing Middlemore. It was going to be tight to make the Holiday Play.

Nightingale started the interview by ostentatiously looked at his watch. “Mr. Middlemore, I need to leave here in no more than fifty minutes in order to make it to my Goddaughter’s Christmas pageant. She is playing the lead reindeer and will be most distressed if Sergeant Grant and I miss it. That will in turn make me most distressed.”

“You won’t like him when he’s ‘most distressed’.” I Intoned in my best Mark Ruffalo voice. 

“So let us keep this as brief as possible.” Nightingale continued. “Your confederate has already given you up on your protection scheme. We also know you were responsible for the death of your apprentice, Larry Ramsey.”

“I never touched the boy.” 

“I said you were responsible. Not that you killed him. He died because you were negligent in your training. When one takes on an apprentice one becomes responsible for them.” Nightingale frowned at Middlemore. “The responsibility of a Master to his apprentice is absolute. You hold their very life in your hands. More than that magic can be the ultimate of temptations. It is your obligation as their teacher to do everything in your power to ensure that they are of moral character to use their powers wisely. An obligation you not only ignored but completely subverted.

“Therefore, it is my determination, as an officer of the law and as the Headmaster of the of the Society of the Wise that you be restricted from any future practice of magic now and forever.” Nightingale looked at his watch again. “Fortunately these days we can physically restrict your use of magic through the use of a mechanical restraint. I will be returning in a few days to fit it to you. In the meantime you will be held here awaiting trial on for your more mundane crimes. Good day, sir.”

 

We just made it into the seats Bev was saving for us at the Pre-school as the lights were going down. 

My daughter was brilliant as the lead reindeer. I’m still not sure why the reindeer sang John Lennon’s ‘So this is Christmas’ but it was lovely. Even Dad admitted she had a ‘decent enough’ voice.

After the play was done she came running out. “Did you see me, Daddy?” 

I swept her up in a hug. “I did, sweetie. You were the best.”

“Indeed,” Nightingale told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a finer pageant.” 

After being suitably congratulated she had to drag Nightingale off to introduce him. You could see the teacher’s puzzlement as to how ‘Uncle Thomas’ fit into the family tree. Clearly Nightingale was not bothering to enlighten her. Slipping an arm around Bev, I commented, “I never would have expected Nightingale to like kids. I suppose with five siblings there must have been a lot of nieces and nephews around.”

Bev snorted. “Oh, babes. I love you, but sometimes you can be so dense. Nightingale doesn’t like kids. Nightingale adores _your_ kid cause she’s yours.”

Off my look of surprise, she went on. “You’re his first apprentice. The one he chose to carry on the legacy that he’s devoted his life to. More than that I’m pretty sure that he realizes that you pulled him out of the funk he’d been living in since the war and brought life and light back to that foggy old Folly. You’re his partner, his brother-in-arms, and the comrade who shares his belief that the keeping of the Queen’s peace is the highest calling. 

“And you care just as much for him for a lot to the same reasons.” She smiled. “It’s okay. I knew when we got together that I was going to share you with him and the magic. What I didn’t expect was to have it turn into this weird pseudo family, since he’s happy to share you with me and the kid.”

What could I say. “You’re a very wise woman, you know that Bev.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She took my arm. “C’mon. Molly has cake waiting for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you’re not disappointed, but after reading the last scene in _Lies Sleeping_ I could not bring myself to write a romantic relationship between Nightingale and Peter. I hope philia will do instead.


End file.
